L'Ombre de l'Opéra
by petite-dreamer
Summary: A mysterious tutor has reignited Blaze's passion for musical theatre and her childhood friend has reappeared after many years - life should be good for the young actress. Too bad her co-workers are getting killed off... (Warning: updates VERY slowly)
1. Little Lotte

_New story! As opposed to The Little Hedgehog, this will be a _much _looser interpretation, thus allowing for actual Sonic themes to come through. In fact, there may be chapters that appear to be completely unrelated to Webber's musical or Leroux's novel - but I assure you that there will be a connection, however vague._

* * *

"Hello, Mother."

A heavy drizzle fell over the graveyard, soaking everything in range without discernment: the cold, grey stones, the lonely, shriveled flowers, and the young kitten who was oblivious to the fact that both her violet jumper and her lilac fur were drenched.

"Father taught me awl – arg - arpeggios yesterdays. I think they're pretty neat. Singing's all I do now – that's how Father makes money for us. He plays and I sing. I must be doing good – I think we're getting more money than we used to."

She came here often when Father was practicing. She loved him dearly, but sometimes she wanted someone else to talk to - but as she didn't really know anyone else, she always found herself returning to the smooth granite marker.

"I wish you were still here, Mother. Even if you weren't very good at music, you were good at that other thing. Father can't do that at all, so he can't teach me. I'm trying to teach myself, but it's not really working. And I can't try it when it's so rainy like today."

She finally fell silent and listened for some response as she always did, even though she knew perfectly well that none was coming.

"Can't try what?"

She jumped at the unexpected words. Although she was already unsure of what her mother's voice had sounded like, she knew this wasn't it. The pitch was too high, the tone too uncertain. It was a child's voice.

Her head jerked in the direction of the auditory presence – and a small scream escaped her. The figure was indeed a child, if the size was any indication – but a pale, faintly glowing one that couldn't possibly be earthly.

The apparition stumbled back a pace at the shrill outburst it had caused. "What? What is it?"

Her teeth chattered as she half-yelled, half-whimpered, "Leave me alone, you mean ghost!" She squeezed her eyes shut as she did this, hoping that when they opened the graveyard would be as empty as she had found it.

To her dismay, the voice replied, closer this time. "Ghost? I'm not a ghost, silly. I'm a hedgehog."

Curiosity overcoming fear, she cautiously lifted an eyelid and saw the truth of it. Sitting on the ground next to her was one very confused, very _real_ hedgehog with fur so white, it was luminous – explaining why she had mistaken him for a spirit through the distorting curtain of rain. Then she looked up higher – and started giggling.

Like most children their age, he was hardly fond of being mocked. "What are you laughing at?" he asked indignantly, crossing his arms and pouting.

She grinned broadly, amazed that such… _things_ could exist in nature. "Your quills are weird."

When his face scrunched even farther into a deep scowl, she realized she'd probably said something she shouldn't have. "I mean, they're a _good_weird. They're really cool, actually. Do you hafta use gel or something to make them like that?"

He shook his head vigorously, making the palm frond that was his quills sway and bounce. "Nope. They're always like this." He tilted his head, trying to think of a way to keep talking this girl that thought his unusual hairstyle was 'cool'. "So… who were you talking to?"

Having already forgotten why she was in a cemetery in less than pleasant weather – such is the mind of a child - she had no idea what he was talking about. "Huh?"

"Before you yelled at me and called me a ghost, you were talking to somebody. Who was it?"

"Oh." Her voice dropped in that single syllable, and her face became downcast. "My mother." She indicated the gravestone in front of her, not considering that most children didn't have dead parents that they chatted with on a regular basis.

Fortunately for her, he wasn't 'most children.' "Yeah, my mom and dad live here, too. I don't talk to them a lot, but I visit them when Auntie lets me."

There was a calm silence afterwards, one that makes the immature restless – but it was safe to say that the life experience of these two companions had given them an appreciation for solemn moments.

Well, for one of them, anyway. He wasn't in her sight at the moment, as she had been practicing reading the tombstone again, so she had no way of knowing what was causing that 'swoosh' sound. When she turned to ask him if he heard the same thing – or if it really _was_ a ghost this time - she gaped in amazement.

As soon as he noticed her staring, the rock he had been toying with dropped to the soggy ground with a soft squish. His first instinct was to run – but on the other hand, she had handled his hair pretty well, and he was curious what she'd think of this.

"It was floating around and – it was glowing blue and – did you do that?" she stammered.

He nodded. "Yeah, but you can't tell Auntie that you saw! She doesn't want me to do stuff like that, and she _really_ doesn't want me to let anybody else see it."

"I won't, I promise." She hesitated a bit before offering, "Wanna see what I can do?"

He bobbed his head in the affirmative, and she pulled him under the overhang of a small mausoleum. Her first few attempts only dried her sopping hands, but after a lot of concentration…

"Whoa! Your hand is on fire!"

"No it's not, silly, it's _making_ the fire." She released her focus, and the flame disappeared, leaving only a warm odor behind. "Now you can't tell anyone about that either, okay?"

"Okay. Pinkie swear." Lavender and alabaster entwined briefly. "I'm glad somebody else knows. Auntie treats it like it's something bad." The boy's tone made it clear that he thought this notion was ridiculous.

"Father doesn't think mine is _bad_, he just can't do it. And I think it makes him sad when I do it, because Mother could do it too. So he never lets me practice." Her amber eyes popped open as an idea occurred to her. "I know! Maybe we could practice together!"

His reply was preempted by the distant sound of an older female drifting through the mist, its words indiscernible. His head snapped around in recognition. "That's Auntie! I gotta go."

"Wait a minute - I don't know your name!"

He stopped and turned hastily, eager to get back before his guardian got upset. "It's Silver."

"I'm Blaze."

The voice was closer now, and they were able to distinguish his name among the words the woman shouted. With a half-wave, he ran off, leaving her with the first real smile she'd had in a long time.


	2. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

_Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring._

The shrill ringing cut through Blaze's deep slumber with the tenderness of a serrated knife; she mumbled incoherently and rolled over. The moonlight seeping through the thin white curtains of the hotel room told her she had no reason to rise, though the caller was clearly unconvinced. She buried her head under a pillow to drown out the noise.

_Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring._

The trills persisted for far longer than they should have, slowly rousing her from quasi-consciousness. Finally, she groaned and sat up.

"Father," she slurred, inebriated with drowsiness, "would you _please_ get the phone?"

_Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring._

The phone continued to mock her, but the dark room stayed otherwise silent. It was then the last of the drowsy haze lifted from her mind and she realized the bed on the far side of the suite was completely untouched, sterile white pillows still stacked on neatly tucked sheets. Father had left for the store at nine. ("Don't wait up for me, sweetie.") He wasn't back yet. What time _was_ it?

As expected, the provided digital clock was unlit and unplugged (the red glow kept Father awake). Blaze rolled towards the end table and blindly searched for his analog clock until her outstretched hand connected with something other than the nightstand's lacquered surface, knocking it over with a heavy thud. She picked it up and angled the timepiece back and forth, trying to read its white unadorned face. The dim celestial light from the window reflected off the clock's silver hands.

It was three in the morning.

_Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring._

Blaze shivered violently. When had the room become so cold? She wrapped herself in a thick floral coverlet and cautiously approached the desk. She lifted the receiver from its cradle, cutting off its summons mid-ring – yet the resulting silence was even more menacing. Although now quite awake, she was surprised when the phone was suddenly on the floor, the old-fashioned cord twisting and curling itself into grotesque knots. She knelt down and tried to pick it up again, but she fumbled the receiver, as if it were coated in oil. After many failed attempts, she precariously steadied it with both trembling hands and raised it to her ear.

"_Hello?" _The word was barely distinguishable through thick static.

"Who's there?" she whispered.

At least, that was her intended response. What actually came out was silence. Her mouth opened, and her lips moved - yet there was no sound.

"_Hello?... Hello?... Hello?..._"

She kept trying, becoming ever more frantic as the aphasia persisted. She finally shook the phone in frustration, which slipped from her grasp yet again. It landed heavily on the carpet, the same two syllables echoing and repeating endlessly.

"_Hello?... Hello?... Hello?..._"

The sound assaulted her from every direction, until the echoes began to converge behind her, the voice suddenly recognized. She turned, and he was there. Flooded with fearful hope yet not relief, she ran forward to embrace him, praying he wouldn't disappear. He smiled and spread his arms to welcome her; but right as she reached him, he vanished. She fell to the ground, hard.

"_Hello?... Hello?... Hello?..._"

Blaze snapped upright with a sharp gasp, panting. Her breaths slowed as she took in the familiar sight of her own bedroom illuminated by morning's warm sunlight. She flopped back onto the flattened pillow and tried to rearrange skewed sheets. What was it going to take for her to sleep peacefully again? The nightmares might vanish for a time, but the memories lurked, always threatening another night of exhaustion where there should be rest.

" 'ello?"

Blaze started, not recognizing the Aussie drawl in her stressed state.

"C'mon, Blaze, up 'n at 'em! Rouge's gettin' antsy!"

Without a groan or similar sound of complaint, she pushed the night's events to the back of her mind, just as she always did. Darkness and its morbid reflections had no place in her waking hours.

"I'm coming, Marine."

* * *

"An' so oi told 'im, y' moight be a drongo sometoimes, but yer not jelly kneed. Shelias loike a bloke tha'll own up when 'e's made a blue. Course, y'don't want th' cobber t' yabber 'is noggin off, either. Oi once 'ad a mate who ne'erstopped earbashin', not even when 'e wuz tuckered…"

Marine hadn't shut up since they left Blaze's apartment. Although Blaze sometimes appreciated the conversation her "friend" provided, it was more often maddening than entertaining. Blaze resorted to listening to her heels click just to distract herself from whatever mundane chatter Marine just _had _to get off her chest.

"Marine!" Blaze sighed in relief as the director strode towards them authoritatively, her disapproving scowl marked by pointed teeth. "For the twentieth time, keep it down! Rehearsal's started. Now hurry up, you're due on stage in ten minutes."

"Oops, hehe. No worries, ma'am, Oi'm off loike a broide's nightie!"

Blaze approached after Marine's voice had faded into the distance. "Thanks."

"She's as much a nuisance to me as she is to you," Rouge muttered, more to herself than her student. Then, "You need to head down to make-up, too. Opening night's next week, after all."

A sudden occurrence made Blaze freeze in mid-step. "…What's today?"

"April 17th."

Oh. That would explain it, why last night's dream was more painful than usual. Seven years since the accident. Seven years since the endless bouncing between neighbors and relatives, all complete strangers. Seven years since she'd had a confidant she could truly call friend. Silver hadn't been at the funeral, and any attempt to find him afterward came up empty.

Silver wasn't who she really wanted to speak to, though. For three years he had supported her as the two of them developed their emerging powers, but for _nine_ years her father had been her rock and the best teacher she could ever hope to have, even now. As much as she rolled her eyes at theater brats who waved enthusiastically to parents in the audience, Blaze still wished that once, just once, she too could have someone out there, someone who would greet her with a hug and bouquet afterwards.

"Mobius to Blaze!"

"Hm?" Blaze slipped out of her reflections and found that even though she was trying to be understanding, sympathy was not Rouge's strong suit.

"Try to reminisce on your own time, not mine."

"Yes, ma'am."

Stifling a wistful sigh, Blaze wandered off to the dressing room, ready to bury herself in another round of grown-up make-believe.

* * *

Seven hours later, Blaze collapsed into one of the green room's plush chairs. Marine followed suit on a couch, although it was hard to tell if she hadn't just succumbed to the heels that had had her teetering dangerously all day.

"Oi've ne'er been so tuckered in moi loife," the raccoon gasped. "I thought researsal'd neva end!"

"And playing on the revolving stage during lunch had nothing to do with it," Blaze commented wryly. _At least now I'll get a bit of peace and –_

Without warning, the east door flew open and the entire children's chorus stampeded through, squealing and jabbering like parakeets (never mind that one _was_ a parakeet). Tiny Cream's piercing laugh was the last Blaze heard before the west door slammed shut.

- _quiet_.

Marine jumped up, wobbled, and opened the door to shout after them, "Dressin' rooms are th' other way, y'know!"

Cream turned and waved as she ran. "We know, but Rouge just put up the list for West Side Story!"

Blaze ears perked up, the only outward sign of her inner excitement. _West Side Story_ had been one of Father's favorite musicals, topped only by _Fiddler on the Roof_. She followed the noise to the bulletin board just down the hall from Rouge's office. Slipping in behind the children, she peered over their heads at the unassuming sheet of two columns and skimmed the names until her eyes fell on the line 'Marine – Anybodys'. She was mildly surprised; it was only a speaking role, and Marine was a pleasant mezzo-soprano. Then again, Marine _was _the most tomboyish of the actresses, and it was certainly a part she'd enjoy.

Blaze, on the other hand, was sorely disappointed when 'Blaze – Graziella' caught her eye a couple lines down. The character was a brainless airhead, and the role was a joke. Her frustrated growl went unheard amidst the dissonance as she turned on her heel and escaped to the nearby director's office.

Rouge was designing another publicity flyer for their current production, _The Secret Garden_. She barely acknowledged Blaze, focused business woman that she was. "Hey, hon. Good rehearsal today. Work on your entrance for 'Storm 1', though, you were a bit slow."

Blaze kept her voice level and her posture neutral. "Why am I Graziella?"

"I told you I'd find you a part. I didn't say it would be a lead role. I cast by talent, you know that."

"Yes, I know. So why am I Graziella?"

"Because that's the kind of audition you gave me. That's the same kind of audition you've given me since you arrived."

"…Excuse me?"

Rouge was unapologetic. "Look, I heard you perform with your father a few times before the accident; you were good - then. But since you've come here, you've been mediocre at best, and I have to cast based on that."

"And you _never_ thought to tell me?"

"You never asked. I'm a busy woman, Blaze. You needed a place to stay, I needed an actress. The arrangement works, and until I see a reason to change it, it will stay as is. Now I have phone calls to make, if you don't mind." Rouge's strict demeanor lapsed into a cross pout that said even if Blaze didn't, she sure minded – and if that didn't get the message across, the slamming door did.

It was fortunate for Blaze that the conversation had ended early; she had begun to feel her frustration rising – physically felt it as her body grew warm with the danger of igniting. Although she'd never come dangerously close, there was always the risk of exposing her carefully protected secret. She managed to avoid Marine in the dressing room and, not wanting to press her luck by sticking around, left without removing her stage makeup.

She'd "never asked?" In seven years, it had never occurred to Rouge to say, "Hey, you might want to look into private lessons?" Really?

At the same time, Blaze had the feeling that she'd suspected it all along. Music and singing had once been a form of bonding for her and her father. After his death, she had no true motivation to perform or improve. But that still didn't take away the frustration of being told she sucked.

Back at the apartment, a cool, misty shower neutralized the pyrokinetic energy build-up in a matter of minutes. Blaze plucked a mystery novel from the bookshelf and tucked in under the bed sheets (now that she wasn't likely to set either ablaze) for a quiet distraction before retiring for the evening. She hummed quietly with the music from her iPod, a recording from one of her father's early performances. It was a common escape for her; if it was listened to unconsciously enough, she felt like a young kitten again, falling asleep to her father's practicing.

As the clock neared 11PM, she set down the book, wondering, in passing, when her playlist had shifted from the sweet and glossy cadence of the violin to a dark, velvet baritone voice. But it wasn't until she tried to switch off the player that she saw the blank screen and realized the battery was dead. So if her iPod was off, who was singing…?

"Who's there?"

* * *

_I hereby do solemnly swear that if it takes me a full year to update anything ever again, I will... I dunno, do something for my brother (who has been dutifully nagging me to finish this chapter this whole time). My apologies to all necessary parties._


	3. Think of Me

The alley, which had earlier been home to the games and adventures of young children, now lay quiet and sublimely lit under the evening moon. Even the adjoining apartments appeared to slumber, just as their residents also slept. But upon a fire escape, one young woman, though nightgown clad, was fully awake, taking advantage of the dark and the silence to ponder life's deeper mysteries - mainly those involving handsome young men.

Coincidentally (or not?), one such man appeared in the alley below, his movements stealthy, like the strays that overturned garbage cans to find their next meal. Upon spotting the girl, he became emboldened by affection and called to her with no regard to the volume of his exclamation. Although she was pleased to see him – for this was the boy on whom her thoughts dwelt – she also shushed him, for so nearby was her family. Undeterred, he requested that she come down, but she was too afraid of discovery. The back-and-forth proved inconclusive, and so he finally came up to her, despite her warnings. They exchanged their sweet nothings and, curiously, one could begin to hear violins. The young couple was unfazed, however, and even appeared ready to break into song when -

"Hold, please!"

"_Gahhh!_"

'Maria' – that is, Amy Rose – flung her head back with an exaggerated groan. "What _now_, Rouge? We didn't forget any lines, Scourge didn't miss his cue, and Miles fixed the lighting. Can we just be done with this scene?"

Blaze could hardly blame Amy for her frustration. The weekend before opening night was always exhausting, as it was the first time that all the musical's elements came together – costumes, sound, lighting, make-up and hair, and pit orchestra. All the coordination errors that had to be ironed out always resulted in all-day rehearsals. These were the only days that Blaze didn't mind being cast in minor roles; because she was in so few scenes, she was often allowed to rest in the green room or watch from the audience. Sometimes it seemed Rouge's forceful personality was all that kept the starring actors from quitting.

Rouge flipped her mobile shut and looked up, vaguely apologetic - a rarity for her. "Jet wants to talk with everyone. Anita, get the others from the green room."

Mina the Mongoose popped up from her seat and sprinted out the stage left door (surprisingly unhampered by her full skirt) just as Jet the Hawk strutted down the center aisle. How he had become the owner and manager of something as sophisticated as a professional theatre was a mystery none of his employees had ever fathomed; he rarely took business matters seriously and was as full of himself as any diva who ever stood beneath a spotlight.

"Bloody Chaos, what does 'e want?" Blaze heard Marine mutter under her breath.

Oblivious to the general disdain that his visit had created, Jet fussed with his head feathers as Mina helped Cream's mother, Vanilla, herd the young ones into the auditorium. Once they were hushed, Rouge nodded to Jet, who jumped straight to the point.

"Well, everyone, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

The cast exploded into a cloud of questions and worries.

"Are people being laid off?"

"Is the theatre going out of business?"

"Are they going to switch off the lights again?"

He shook his head, smile curiously wide across his beak. "No, none of that. I'm afraid that I'm leaving."

Jet mistook the silence that followed for dismay. How he thought that in spite of the giant smirk on Rouge's face, Scourge's mutterance "good riddance," and the none-too-subtle celebration dance from Marine spoke volumes of just how inflated his ego had become.

"I know you're all disappointed, but I looked at all the options and this is what was best for all of us. Best for me because I got lots of rings from the sale, which I intend to use to retire. Viva Casino Night Zone! And I can find a gal with a great pair of bo - er, boots! And wings. And it was the best for the rest of you because – er… well, best for me, anyway."

"Yo, Jet!"

"What?" Jet squawked indignantly and wheeled about. Upon spotting the speaker, his eyes narrowed in distaste. "Oh, it's _you_."

Coming down the same aisle was a blue hedgehog with green eyes that were taking their sweet time checking out the theatre. He walked just like the hawk did, Blaze noticed, a strut that didn't so much command others' respect as it choked it out of them. At least his voice was tolerable - listening to Jet talk felt like biting down on aluminum foil.

The hedgehog was followed by a red… something. He looked similar to a hedgehog, but the way that his spines drooped around his head rather than stood upon his back suggested he was a different species Blaze had never encountered. His stance and posture was all business, except for the glint in his violet eyes that suggested he was annoyed with his blue friend. Well, 'suggested' was a bit of an understatement.

When they reached the stage, the hedgehog planted a hand on the varnished wood and vaulted into the air, somersaulting twice before landing squarely on his feet to the clapping of the impressionable children. The not-hedgehog went for the more practical method of using the stage left stairs.

"Well, Jet, aren't you going to do the introductions?" asked the cockier of the pair after he waved off the children's applause.

Jet glared at him, clearly touchy over being shown up in front of his employees. "Of course," he grumbled, voice sardonic. "Sonic and Knuckles, your new managers."

"That's Sonic _the Hedgehog_, bud," Sonic interjected. The statement was accompanied by a grin and thumbs-up that felt more scripted than anything the cast had ever performed. As an afterthought he gestured to his accomplice. "And he's an echidna."

As Jet now seemed to be incapacitated from sulking, Rouge took charge of the conversation. "Rouge the Bat, director. I apologize if we seem… unprepared, but this is the first Jet's told us of the change in management."

"He does seem the sort to miss details such as those," Knuckles commented, putting out his hand for a shake.

Rouge smiled slyly as she grabbed it with her own. "My, such strong hands. You'll have to be careful, I'm afraid mine are rather delicate."

Blaze stared. Was Rouge _flirting_? Although her curvaceous physique had always drawn attention from the opposite sex, Rouge had never seen fit to return it. Granted, most of the male cast members were like Jet when it came to egos. The only other male employees were Ivo, the janitor – who was old and fat – and Miles, who ran sound and lighting – who was just a kid.

_Lo and behold, Madame Director has found her star._

"Ahh…" Knuckles was just as surprised by Rouge's affections as Blaze, if his sudden inability to speak was any sign.

"And it seems as though it's not just your hands. I've _never_ seen such biceps on a man, and, ooo, I bet those abs feel as hard as they look."

Knuckles took a hasty step back as Rouge's hand crept towards his torso and cleared his throat nervously. "I'd, um, really rather this remained a professional business relationship, Ms. Bat."

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry, that was terribly out of line. It'll never happen again," she assured him – even if the mischievous glint in Rouge's eye betrayed the insincerity of her promise.

Sonic watched the whole exchange with a steadily widening smirk. "Knux, my man, what's up with you? The lady gives you a compliment and you leave her hanging?"

Knuckles glared at his co-manager, an expression that his face had clearly well-practiced from frequent use. "Not all of us, hedgehog, lead on every female that so much as blinks at us."

"Why Knux, I'm hurt. When have I ever abused my charm or good looks?"

The glare shifted to a deadpan stare. "Two words, Sonic: Sally Acorn."

"Exactly. I am the epitome of gentlemanly be – wait, what?"

Sonic was saved from a proper response by one pink soprano that scampered forward the second it appeared her director was done conducting business. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I just_ can't_ wait any longer to meet you, Mr. Sonic!"

His easy demeanor slipped back on like a glove as he took the girl's proffered hand and kissed it, but not before giving Knuckles a smug look that suggested the less suave of the pair might want to take notes.

"Please, just Sonic. And what's your name, gorgeous?"

Any theatre member, children included, could have told this new manager that the last thing he wanted to do with a smitten Amy Rose was encourage her. But for their own reasons, they chose not to; in Blaze's case, her mischievous side, small as it was, wanted to see how he'd get out of the pit he was unwittingly digging.

"Amy Rose, lead soprano," she cooed. It was impressive how her eyes could physically sparkle.

"Hm, then your voice must sound as beautiful as you look, as befits a theatre's leading lady."

Amy turned her head in a manner she thought alluring. "I could be yours too…", she crooned, letting her voice swing up on the last word.

Sonic finally caught the suspicious glimmer in her expression and his smile completely froze. "Ahhmmm…"

"AAAAND, blue does look wonderful with pink… we can make them the wedding colors!"

"What."

"Ooooo, I need to start looking at bridesmaids dresses! Miles, where's my laptop?"

Amy scurried off, leaving Sonic, for the first time in a long time, dumb-struck. Knuckles sidled up next to him. "How's that charm and good looks working for you?"

"Can we leave now?" he squeaked out.

"No, we've already given them the final payment."

Sonic whimpered. "But she'll _abduct _me!"

"You stay on guard for the director, I keep the soprano away. Deal?"

Sonic looked at Knuckles, then at Rouge, then at the doorway that still echoed with Amy's squeals. And nodded.

* * *

After luring Amy back from looking at the Bunnie's Bridal website, Rouge took up her usual position in the front row of the auditorium and patted the spot next to her. "Have a seat, boys. I'm sure you'd like to see your employees in action."

As the managers settled themselves in the plush chairs (Knuckles on the _other_ side of Sonic), Amy climbed back up the textured wood structure that made up the fire escape, Scourge took his place behind the stage left curtain, and Miles gave Rouge a thumbs up to indicate that sound and lighting were cued up.

"All right, Maria and Tony. Act 1, Scene 5, from the top."

It was their smoothest run-through yet, even if Blaze thought Maria's longing looks seemed to be directed towards the audience more than her co-star. It looked like they might be done before midnight after all.

"_Good night, good night_

_Sleep well and when you dream_

_Dream of me_

_Toniiiiiii – _EEEE!"

Amy shrieked as one of the support beams suddenly groaned and buckled. Scourge grabbed the railing and merely dangled from it when the fire escape snapped in two; Amy's reflexes were not as finely honed as her co-star's, and her grasping hand met only empty air as she fell to the concrete floor, landing heavily on her back.

The children screamed, Blaze gasped, and Marine muttered a shocked expletive under her breath. Rouge leapt up and opened her wings in one movement, gliding onto the raised stage, the two managers quickly following.

"Amy, are you alright? _Don't_ move her!" she snapped, swatting away Knuckles' hand. "She might have landed on her neck."

"Hah!" A short bark of contemptuous laughter sounded from above their heads and Scourge dropped down from the broken structure, his weight and the force of the fall shifted skillfully to the balls of his feet. "If we could only be that lucky."

Rouge looked away from Amy just long to shoot him a glare so venomous that even the haughty tenor couldn't help being cowed into silence. "I don't care if opening night _is _in three days; I _will _fire you if you dare make any comment of the sort about one of your co-workers again." Rouge ignored his hasty retreat to turn back to the perfectly still actress. "Amy, talk to me. Can you move?"

"…OWWW!"

Sonic covered his ears and winced at the shrill noise. "Yep, that's a soprano if I ever heard one."

Amy groaned as she propped herself on her elbows and winced dramatically. "It broke! I could have _died_!"

Rouge narrowed her eyes; just because she was concerned about the wellbeing of her actors it did not mean that she granted opportunities to gripe about mishaps. "You only fell seven feet. Paralyzed, maybe, but dead, no. And since you're neither, just get down to costumes and have Vanilla look you over while we get Omega in to fix this."

But Amy would not be deterred. "Don't you pretend like this is the first time this has happened, Rouge! Oh sure, it started innocently enough – mic packs with dead batteries, lights cut a line too early. But _then_ there was the itching powder in my costume during Les Mis, and then my costume for Grease was completely slashed, and do I even need to remind you about when the lock on the dressing room door jammed? Five minutes before a performance? With me inside it? I may not be the sharpest spoon in the drawer" – Marine snickered – "but I can tell when I'm not wanted!"

Knuckles held out his hands pleadingly. "Miss Rose, don't be absurd! You're the star of the show, of course you're wanted." He nudged Sonic in the side and added in a low voice, "Come on, help me out here."

"But she scares me."

"Sonic, now is _not _the time for your paranoia."

"It's not paranoia, it's fact! She will _injure me_."

"I_'_ll do more than injure you if this show isn't performed, because then there won't be any shows performed, because we'll be _broke_."

"I'd rather be broke than broken!"

Amy's eyes only became more narrowed as the managers shot whispers back and forth. With a sudden "hmph!" that silenced the males, she crossed her arms and turned up her black button nose. "Wanted or not, I'm not singing under these conditions – and that's final!" And with those words, the infuriated female stormed off.

Even the children were deathly quiet after the door clicked shut. Sonic realized too late that Amy really was the lesser of two dangers, and before he could run off Knuckles had grabbed him by the neck and glared venomous daggers at his business partner. Sonic chuckled nervously. "Nothing to worry about, Knux. I'm sure Rouge can get one of the other actresses ready in time…" He peeked hopefully at the director and cringed when he saw her stare of utter contempt. "Um, right? Rouge?"

"Three months of rehearsals, starting at three hours a day and increasing to six hours by the time we reach the insomnia that is tech weekend. And you think I could replicate that in only six days? Clearly, you have never worked in show business before."

"...I hope you realize I'm going to kill you now, hedgehog."

"Hold on, handsome," Rouge cautioned. "Fake blood is hard enough to clean up, I don't need the real stuff everywhere. And there are children present. Besides," she added, sly smile emerging, "you may have a show yet."

Sonic's life stopped flashing before his eyes, while Knuckles just looked confused. "But you just said – "

Rouge shook her head. "Your rash blue friend asked if _I_ could train someone in the time before the show. And I can't – no one could learn both lines and musical numbers that quickly. But he didn't ask if we already had an understudy."

A clamor of whispering rose from the cast members. What understudy? Amy never allowed backup actresses for her, as possessive of her roles as she was. A suspicion sprang up in Blaze's mind, but was just as quickly dismissed. Rouge couldn't possibly -

"Would you come up and demonstrate for the gentlemen, Blaze?"

Blaze froze as every head in the theatre turned toward her. She hadn't told anyone about her private lessons – so how had Rouge found out?

Marine, although just as confused as the rest of the cast, prodded her with an elbow. "G'on, Blaze. Give it a burl."

"But – but –"

Rouge looked to the men apologetically. "One moment, please." She slid off the stage and walked down the aisle to Blaze's seat, where she leaned in confidentially.

Blaze tried to feign ignorance. "Rouge, what are you talking about? I have a speaking role, I haven't sung since – "

"Oh, come on, Blaze," the director interrupted, almost harsh in her abruptness. "I know you can do this, and I know that you know you can do this. More importantly, _he_ knows you can do this." Blaze's amber eyes widened so much it could have been comical, and Rouge knew she had the actress' full attention. "Don't disappoint him now."

She knew. Blaze had no idea how, but Rouge knew. And so there was no denying that she was right.

Blaze stood and hesitantly followed Rouge back to the stage. She felt every eye follow her down the aisle, which did nothing to diminish her nervousness. She'd never been this tense during an audition – but then she wouldn't be the only one disappointed by a failure this time. Her internal heat rose in response to a sudden adrenaline spike; she pushed it back down when a tiny wisp of smoke escaped the floor beneath her foot.

Rouge sat back down in her chair when she reached her row; Blaze scurried up the side steps on her own. The stage lights were much brighter than she remembered them; she could barely make out the figures sitting below her. In fact, it wasn't too hard to pretend she was back in her own room, alone with her instructor.

Blaze closed her eyes and shut out the world as her first soft notes spread through the auditorium -

_Tonight, tonight  
It all began tonight  
I saw you and the world went away…_

- all the way to the catwalks above the stage, where a silent figure listened to his protégé's sweet melody with not just delight, but also pride. And when the awestruck managers had no choice but to enthusiastically give the part to her, he gave a rare genuine smile, his pointed ivories glinting dimly in the darkness.

"Well done, 'Maria.' Well done."

* * *

_I should perhaps be kind enough to explain some theatre/theater terms for those of you who have never been in productions. Mind you, I'm not entirely sure which of these are universal and which are unique to our university._

_- "Hold, please!" is basically the equivalent of "cut" in movie-making. Except that in movies, once a scene is done correctly, you never have to do it again. "Hold" is also an obnoxiously common command during photo call, when the actors go through the play but freeze in place so a photographer can get pictures for the theatre department to use in archives and advertising._

_- The weekend prior to opening weekend as described in the beginning of the chapter is also known as tech weekend. This is when theatre devours souls. Saturday is especially long - the day starts around 8 or 9AM (depending how long your specific hair and makeup takes) and does not end until about 10 or 11PM. All three meals are provided, which is some comfort since they are usually brought in from outside restaurants, whereas students usually have no choice but to eat at the dining commons, where the food quality is... variable. Welcome to college. ANYWAY..._

_- You may have noticed that Rouge called Mina "Anita." Our director - and most, I would think - calls us by our characters' names during scene rehearsals to help us stay in-character, and then everyone gets so used to calling the cast by those names that they get used even when the people aren't supposed to be in-character. This is why, almost two years after being in _The Crucible_, many theatre friends still call me Betty.__  
_

_- The "green room" is sort of an actors' lounge. This is one term that I'm especially unsure of regarding whether it's just us or all of theatre-dom - our green room is a teacher's lounge that actually does have a wall painted light green (it also has images of the tragedy and comedy masks that represent theatre), but whether the wall was painted green because it's the green room or it's the green room because the wall is green I don't know._

_- "From the top" just means from the beginning, whether it's the beginning of that scene, of that act, or of the whole play._

_Also... ten months between updates is better than twelve, right? Right? Sigh. I'm really, really lazy, and that's the only possible explanation I have for you all. If the story isn't jumping out of my brain fully complete, then I usually don't care to put the work in to make it complete. I'm a college student! I have far too many assignments already!__ Thank you all for even being willing to read a fic that is so poorly updated. In my defense, this could have very well been two separate chapters, in which case you probably would have had the first half in August. Also, many thanks to my awesome brother who bugs me about these things and reads them for me when they're finally ready.  
_

_Next chapter (whenever it may be) - opening night!  
_


	4. Music of the Night

Opening night was unusually cool for July; the ladies of the audience donned either cardigans or their dates' jackets while the gentlemen wore their collared shirts and ties more comfortably than was usual for the season. Backstage, however, the cast still suffered the stifling heat that tended to come with heavy costumes, intense stage lights, and the general flurry of pre-show preparations. Some suffered more than others.

"Vanilla, we need more of the guys' lipstick."

"Back cabinet, second shelf."

"Has anyone seen my shoes?"

"In the costume shop, and the loose heel is fixed."

"Mina's curls aren't holding!"

"Use the super-strength spray on her and Fiona, they've got thick hair."

"Miz Rabbit, have you seen the knives for Scene 9? They aren't on the props shelf."

"You know Lumina is props manager, talk to her – what is it, Cream?"

"Momma, can I have some of the cookies in the kitchen?"

"No, dear, that's for after the show."

"Vanilla - "

"_What?_ Oh. Hello, Rouge."

The winged director raised an eyebrow at the sharp response from the normally serene mother. "I was going to ask how the actors are doing, but I suppose I ought to ask how you're doing instead."

"I'll be fine once everyone's ready." Vanilla took a quick look around the room, looking a touch less frazzled than she had. "Which they are, actually. Blaze here is the last one."

It wasn't hard to tell that the young lady sitting in front of them was the aforementioned cat – but it wasn't easy, either. For one, Blaze never wore dresses. Yet the figure in the chair sported a delicately feminine, knee-length number. For another, Blaze didn't have curly headfur. Vanilla was still in the process of changing that.

Rouge smoothed her own dress – a slinky yet tasteful black cocktail complemented by smoky eyes and simple jewelry – and announced, "Five minute to circle!" to the room at large (_"Thank you, five!"_) before placing a hand on her lead actress's should. "Are you ready for this, Maria?"

She expected the young feline to be nervous. She didn't expect her to start violently at the contact and accidently knock the curling iron out of Vanilla's hand.

"Sorry!" Blaze exclaimed, adding "I'm fine" when the rabbit fussed over a burn mark Blaze knew she wouldn't find.

Rouge observed her quickened breathing and the fidgeting and thought she'd best ward off the stage fright while it was still in its early stages. "Vanilla, you go on ahead for make-up checks. I can finish up here."

The two women exchanged meaningful looks and Vanilla nodded once before turning and exiting, shooing various cast members before her. "Alright everyone, to the stage for circle. Come on, out out out!"

Within moments, Rouge and Blaze were the only ones left in the makeup room. Rouge picked up the curling iron from where it had fallen on the floor and took up where Vanilla had left off. Blaze sat silently, gaze averted from the mirror as her reflection became less hers and more Maria's.

"You're awfully quiet tonight." Rouge tugged an uncooperative curl into place, trapping it with a bobby pin. "Nervous?"

As if she had to ask. "Yes."

"That's to be expected on your first lead. Did I ever tell you about my first starring role? Roxie in _Chicago_. So excited, practiced my lines every waking moment, but come opening night I was so jittery that during the trial scene, I plead guilty_._ Now that took some creative ad-libbing to get out of."

Rouge watched Blaze's lips twitch upward and smiled herself as she finished off her work with a cream-colored ribbon that matched Blaze's costume. "In the end," she added, "I found it helped to think of one specific person who'd be in the audience that night - whether it was a cousin, an old roommate, or even my favorite bartender – and pretend I was only performing for them. I know you don't have very many people like that left, but if for no one else, just sing for him."

All the tension that had slowly been disappearing returned as Blaze stiffened. "But he's the problem."

So much for Rouge thinking she understood the situation. "How so?"

Blaze's amber eyes finally lifted from her lap to meet Rouge's turquoise in the mirror. "I couldn't care less about everyone else in that room, but if I disappoint _him_, after all his teaching - if that were to go to waste…"

Rouge considered her words carefully before she spoke. "Honey, I've been working at this theatre for ten years, and I've known of him that whole time. And in all that time, he never spoke to a single other employee, much less tutored one – until you. You've spoken with him - do you think he would have chosen to break his silence for just anyone?"

Blaze's gaze dropped in contemplation. "He said he remembered my father," she said, more to herself than the director. "My father performed here many years ago. He said that Father's playing is the best he's heard here. And there was another time, when it was both Father and me performing – I was so young, I'd forgotten this was where we were – he heard and he knew I was capable of singing so much better. He – "

The actress stopped suddenly mid-monologue and turned in her chair, amber eyes narrowing as she looked intently at the older woman. "How do_ you_ know him?"

Rouge instantly became guarded, face wiped of any revealing expressions. "I'm a bat – I make it my business to know about things that hide in the dark."

Blaze would not be so easily deterred. "Have you ever seen him?" No answer. "Do you know his name?"

Rouge didn't even acknowledge the questions. "You're done. It's time for circle."

Blaze stared at her director in a manner that would have done her huntress ancestors proud. The bat stared right back. With a slight huff and twitch of her tail Blaze acknowledged her defeat and stood up to leave, the clack of her heels punctuating each step to the door.

"Shadow."

The feline froze in the doorway and spun on a dime. "What?"

"It's not his name, but I call him Shadow." Rouge said it as disinterestedly as if she were ordering supplies. "Any other nosy questions?"

"Just one - who else knows about him?"

* * *

"Hohoho! Do you mean to tell me that no one has told you of the Ghost of Broadway?"

The youngest of the actresses looked at each other nervously and shook their heads. Some sat on the edge of the worn couch, leaning forward, while others sat cross-legged on the floor and clung to throw pillows in anticipation of the chilling tale that was sure to follow. The old janitor that had spoken grinned like a Cheshire cat – he never could resist a captive audience. "Well then, let me be the first!"

"Maybe you've noticed that whenever a prop has gone missing or the wrong sound cue plays during a rehearsal, the older employees will blame it on 'the Ghost.'" A few of the girls nodded. "The Ghost has been a legend here for nearly fifty years, a mysterious, mischievous individual that will take any opportunity to cause problems with productions – completely fictional, of course." The rotund custodian suddenly stuck out a skinny arm, finger wagging. "Or so the grown-ups will tell you. The truth is the Ghost is real, and while it is true that he is usually only a prankster, his past is much darker.

"The Ghost first appeared after a horrible incident during a performance. The final scene called for the main character and his rival to have a duel with pistols. The props were real pistols - but loaded with blanks, of course. The actors performed the scene, and the main character died as the script dictated. But then it was time for curtain call, and still the lead actor lay on the floor." Light gleamed off the speaker's spectacles, highlighting his expression of what could only be called morbid delight. "The rest of the cast approached and realized that the pool of blood he lay in was not stage blood, but the real thing. Someone had loaded that gun with real bullets. The actor had actually been shot, and he died later that night." A couple of girls gasped in horror.

"It was a scandal, of course. The investigation went on for months, and the theatre nearly went out of business." He stroked his bushy mustache idly. "In the end, the official report was that it was an accident, and the props master was fired, though not charged. The theatre re-opened, and everyone put the tragedy behind them. But then more accidents happened, and the employees began to talk…"

The narrator's soft chortle suddenly seemed ominous. "Some wondered if it was the spirit of the victim, still upset over the mix-up. Others said that it was clear the death was no accident, and that the Ghost was trying to take revenge on his murder. But the most popular opinion – the one that everyone secretly believes today – is that the Ghost _was_ the murderer, and that he is still hiding from justice, searching for his next victim."

"You may not see him, but this is a very large building, with so many dark, empty rooms. How many times have you heard a tapping or creaking you couldn't explain?" A distant thump had the youngest clinging to each other and the oldest glancing about nervously. "He wanders the theatre, always seeing, but never seen. But every once in a while, he is careless and spotted, and that is when he is at his most dangerous." The janitor's gloved hands spread and hovered above his audience, as if they were ravens waiting to swoop. "So ladies, if you ever find yourself in the dark with a pair of eyes – blood-red eyes that are icy cold yet can burn like fire! – run as if your life depends on it… _because it does_."

An uneasily hush fell over his audience, until – "Mr. Ivo!" – the wound-up girls shrieked at an octave Amy herself would envy - "I do 'ope you ain't gabbin' about t'Ghost again. Y' know Rouge don't loike it."

Ivo Kintobor leaned on the handle of his mop and gave the intruder his most disarming smile. "Now Marine, what's the harm of telling a story to the children?"

The raccoon frowned from where she rested against the doorway of the green room, "Th' 'arm? When th' nippers start screamin' an' runnin' about loike 'eadless chooks, Rouge'll chuck a spaz, that's th' 'arm."

The janitor scowled, enormous mustache bristling. "Director's pet," he muttered. "Mind your own business."

"Well, show's startin', lamb-brain, so 'ush."

* * *

The bereaved Maria lay sprawled over what was once her beloved Tony. Members of both gangs came forward, moved by her devotion and her refusal to kill even after she had lost the one closest to her. She sat up and allowed them to lift his body, and they carried him, friends and enemies alike, with the honor of a fallen comrade. And as Maria followed them out, her scarf draped over her head in the manner of a widow, the street lights faded to black, and the silence was suddenly filled with the applause of hundreds, which turned to a standing ovation when Blaze reemerged for curtain call.

Afterward, the lobby buzzed with approval of the new lead actress. Amy's singing, although impressive in its range, often felt artificial and one-dimensional. Blaze's may have not been as perfect in its mechanics, but it was beautifully emotive. Even the oldest, most pernickety patrons had to admit that the feline showed promise (before they returned to complaining about poor lighting choices and sub-par set design). When the actors filed out into the lobby, Blaze was quickly engulfed by a crowd of well-wishers.

"I've never heard Maria portrayed so well!"

"Magnificent, dear."

"Bwaah! I – _hiccup_ – still can't – _sob_ – stop cryiiiing…"

"I wanna be a singer just like _you_ when I grow up!"

Blaze smiled weakly at the praise, gamely posing with patrons for photos, even signing the little one's program, but it was clear to Marine that her friend's mind was elsewhere. After half an hour, when the throng of Mobians showed no sign of letting up, she finally moved from her spot in the arrangement of actors and intervened.

"Oi'm sorry, shelias 'n blokes, but th' 'igher-ups need 'er backstage." The raccoon snagged Blaze by the arm and guided her out of the mob to a chorus of disappointed groans.

"Thanks, Marine."

"Aw, don't. Oi couldn't leave y'out there when y're so obviously bushed. But strewth, Blaze, y'oughta be tuckered - y'were ripper tonoight!"

Blaze allowed herself a wry smile. "So I've been told."

"Alroight, I'll 'ush up so y'can make tracks. But would y'like t'grab a cuppa t'morrow mornin'?"

"I suppose. I'll call you when I wake up."

Backstage wasn't quite the reprieve Marine hoped it would be, as most of the actors (save Scourge and the absent Amy) voiced their praise in between hanging up costumes and wiping off makeup. Even Sonic and Knuckles dropped by for the sole purpose of congratulating Blaze.

"You may have single-handedly saved this establishment, Blaze," Knuckles admitted as he shook her hand.

"Which means it's time for an epic cast party, right?" Sonic threw his arms around the two of them. "C'mon, best part of being in theatre!"

Blaze gently shook herself free. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

Knuckles nodded. "I guess that performance must've taken a lot out of you. We'll see you tomorrow night, then."

"But you're coming next time, right?" Sonic yelled as Knuckles dragged him away. Too exhausted to argue, Blaze just nodded. As soon as her dress was hung up and her make-up washed off, she bid a good night to the rest of the cast and disappeared into the stairwell that led to her apartment.

The rest of the theatre employees were not nearly as exhausted as Blaze. They lingered in the quadrant, waiting for someone to decide where they'd go for their customary post-opening-night celebration.

"So there's this great nightclub that's just down the road – "

Rouge glared at him. "No, Sonic, there are children in this cast. We're going to Chuck's."

"Aw, just have Vanilla take them."

"_No_, Sonic. Do we have enough drivers?"

"I can take four."

"I've got room for six – seven if we count the trunk." ("_No_, Mina.")

"Mama brought the minivan so she can drive too."

"I wanna ride with Miss Vanilla!"

"Anyone who doesn't like techno better not be riding with me!"

In short, it was a chaos of camaraderie – laughter, inside jokes, banter, the stress and tension of preparation and performance turned to relief and celebration. Sonic was right – it _was_ one of the best parts of being in theatre.

That festive banter was silenced a moment later when it was cut by a shrill scream.

"Mama!" Cream shrieked, but by that point Rouge and her managers had already run off to investigate.

They found the mother rabbit at the entrance to the maintenance area in the basement, pressed against the doorframe, hand clutching at her heart, eyes wide with terror and shock. For right in front of her, at the foot of the steps, lay Ivo Kintobor, his egg-shaped body devoid of life.

A clamor of footsteps arose as many of the other cast members caught up. They reacted with various gasps and cries, and Lily, one of the very girls who had been enthralled by the janitor's tales that very evening, shrieked, "The Ghost! It was the Ghost of Broadway!"

Rouge whirled about, her own shock broken by the young voice. "Why did you let the children come?" she yelled at no one in particular. "Get them out of here! Go!"

Nothing less than Rouge's tone of absolute authority could have overruled the actors' sense of morbid curiosity. The older staff members grabbed the younger ones and scurried off without so much as a glance over the shoulder - Knuckles took care of supporting and gently leading the traumatized Vanilla.

"So, no cast party?"

Rouge glared at Sonic, who made his hasty retreat. The moment everyone was out of sight, Rouge exhaled and fell against the wall, her eyes closing in a pained expression. Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Police? I'd like to report a death…"

* * *

_And now it's time for Author's Notes with petite-dreamer, the part of the chapter where petite-dreamer comes out and apologizes profusely for taking a full year (again) to update. I'd blame student teaching, but I had the entire summer to write and... well, that didn't happen, obviously. I think I owe A Reserved Deduction an apology fic now._

_Also, more theatre terms/concepts:_

_- How long it takes to get ready for a performance is directly proportional to the complexity of make-up and hair styling required. Sometimes actors will have to come in a full hour earlier than the rest of the cast, especially those playing elderly characters. Yaaay, latex wrinkles._

_- Circle is maybe just us? I don't know? Before the audience is allowed into the house (seating area), cast, stage hands, ushers, and production people alike gather on the stage. We sometimes mention if we know specific people seeing the performance, what people have told us about the previous night's performance, and the director prays for us (Christian college and all). And then the director does a quick makeup check on the actors.  
_

_- If someone from production comes to tell people in the makeup room or green room that something is happening in a certain number of minutes (i.e. "ten to circle"), the appropriate response to indicate that you have heard is to say thank you followed by whatever number of minutes you were told (i.e. "thank you ten!").  
_

_- I'm pretty sure cast parties are a universal thing in theatre. I mean, you've sold your soul to get the production done, you're going to want to celebrate not completely botching it. Ours are usually at the director's house, we all bring a snack, there is sometimes karaoke, and there is always Prince of Paris. Look it up. _

_- At my uni, we also have a post-opening-night outing, usually to Steak and Shake, which is separate from the cast party. Then we all get back really late and crash and sleep until an hour before we have to get reading for that night's performance._

_Also, also [rant alert - feel free to leave now], some of you may be aware of the existence of Love Never Dies. Those of you who aren't are the fortunate ones. _

_Why Andrew Lloyd Webber thought it was a good idea to write a sequel for Phantom, despite the fact that there is no source material to base it on (as opposed to the original that was a French novel) is beyond me. As such, it is nothing more than glorified fanfiction, and his Phantom/Christine OTP is showing. Basically, Christine changed her mind and shacked up with the Phantom the night before her wedding to Raoul (and got preggers), Raoul turns into a definitely gambling possibly alcoholic jerk, Meg wants the Phantom to be obsessed with her instead of Christine, and everyone decided to move to Coney Island so the ladies could be Vaudeville singers. Yeahhh. The music doesn't even have that dark, seductive tone that was the _entire reason the Phantom was appealing in the first place _(with the barest exception of "Devil Take the Hindmost")_._ And then Christine dies in America, completely contradicting the end of the original. Gah._ _[end rant]_


	5. I Remember

Exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted. Blaze dragged her feet down the hallway that led to her apartment, oblivious to the terrible discovery that the rest of the theatre company was making at that very moment. The lingering concern that her performance was not up to her tutor's standards (despite the popular response) drained her already depleted energy even further, making a meeting with him the last thing she wanted to do at the moment - though she felt vaguely guilty and ungrateful for even thinking such a thing.

Lost in nervous anticipation, she nearly missed the figure pacing by her front door. Nearly being the key word, as it was as hard to miss silver fur as bright as it had been ten years ago.

Disbelief stopped her dead in her tracks. "Silver...?"

The hedgehog turned quickly, startled by her sudden appearance. "Blaze!... hi."

Blaze just kept staring. Silver rubbed one leg along the back of the other nervously. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Silence reigned for one moment longer, then Blaze broke out into laughter as she recalled their first meeting those many years ago. "Maybe because I have!" She ran the rest of the hallway at full pelt and launched herself at her childhood friend in what could only be accurately described as a glomp. "How are you? What are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?"

Silver smiled past the impulsive wince that came with being bear-hugged. "I didn't know! I was invited to the play, and then I saw your name in the program. I looked for you in the lobby after the show but you'd already left, so I asked one of the little girls where you'd gone and she said you lived up here."

Blaze's own smile dropped into a frown momentarily as she finally released him, absently rubbing where her arms had pressed too hard against his back spines. "I told Lily not to tell strangers where I live. You could have been anyone." Her face split in another grin that was smaller but just as warm. "But I'm so glad to see you! It's been so long."

"It has." Silver's smile faltered for a moment. "I wasn't even sure you'd remember me."

Blaze stared at him incredulously. "Not remember you? It's not like we spent three years practicing secret powers that only two other people knew about. Forgetting you would be like – I don't know, like forgetting about my pyrokinesis."

The grin quickly returned to Silver's muzzle. "Alright, _Fireball_, I get it."

Blaze frowned at the usage of the old nickname. "You'd better, _Shiny_," she retorted petulantly.

The two friends engaged in a brief mock-staring-match but broke out into laughter when neither could keep a straight face. Blaze leaned against the wall for support and it suddenly occurred to her that said wall wasn't in her apartment.

"We're still in the hallway, aren't we?"

"… So we are," Silver confirmed. "You probably want to get to bed, I should go…" He took an awkward half-step backwards as if to follow through.

"Nonsense! Stay right there," Blaze ordered. She entered her apartment, but her voice trailed out to him through the open door. "I know a café down the road that's still open, and you and I are going to eat food and catch up properly." She reemerged with a small handbag slung over her shoulder and locked the door behind her. "Shall we?"

* * *

Ebony's was quiet but not deserted at that hour. The matronly waitress greeted them warmly and led them past a study group of students from the local university and a single middle-aged chipmunk to a booth near the kitchen entrance.

Once their orders were placed, Blaze leaned back into the cushioned bench and turned her attention towards her old friend. "So are you living in the area or visiting? I know Mobotropolis isn't exactly a small town, but I'd think I would have seen you by now."

"Both? More of a long-term visit, I guess. My cousin just moved out here and I told the rest of the family I'd keep an eye on him while he gets settled."

The way Silver said "keep an eye" was tinged with exasperation and reminded her of Rouge complaining about Marine's or the children's escapades. "Is he a troublemaker?"

He rocked his hand back and forth in a 'so-so' motion. "He doesn't mean to be, he just… doesn't think through things before doing them. I'm almost surprised he even remembered to find a place to live out here – I half-expected to find him napping on rooftops. He didn't even tell me about the performance until lunch today."

Blaze lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head as she made the connection. "Your cousin is the one that invited you to see the play?" She was briefly interrupted by the waitress setting down their beverages. Blaze took a quick drink of her cola before elaborating, "He doesn't sound like the theatre type at all."

"He's not. Which why I have no idea why he'd decide he wants to manage one all of a sudden."

There was a beat of silence, and then suddenly Blaze broke out into gales of tinkling laughter. The chipmunk two booths away turned and frowned in irritation, and though she ducked her head in embarrassment, the feline couldn't stop giggling. Silver was also irritated and slightly confused, but he still found himself smiling.

_It's been too long since I heard that laugh._

"Sonic? Your cousin is _Sonic?_" Blaze eventually managed to exclaim.

Silver could have smacked himself for being thick-headed. Obviously Blaze would have met her own employer. "Unfortunately."

Blaze's chortles died down, though her wide smile was left in place. "And you're living with him. You poor, brave soul."

He shrugged. "Sonic's not all bad. He just needs to be taken in small doses. And if nothing else, he got me to the theatre tonight."

It was then the waitress returned with their food order. The scent of cooked meat reminded Blaze that she hadn't eaten since before her exhausting performance, and she bit into her hamburger eagerly. Silver also ate his panini with relish, and not a sound was heard from either of them until both sandwiches had disappeared. Blaze took a long sip of her drink and sighed in contentment.

"So," she began, pushing her empty plate to the side and leaning forward, "aside from being roped into seeing musicals by your well-meaning but overbearing cousin, what else have you been up to?"

"School, mostly. I take a few odd jobs here and there to help with tuition."

"And? What are you studying?" Blaze prodded.

"Social work. Eventually I'd like a concentration in youth or children."

"Huh." It wasn't the answer she was expecting, but the more she thought about it, the better it fit the quiet yet protective boy she remembered. "Good for you."

Silver smiled, and Blaze thought she spotted a blush momentarily flash across his muzzle. "What about you? How long have you been at Delphi?"

She stiffened as though she'd been insulted, and her answer, while not exactly harsh, came out a bit crisper than she'd meant. "Seven years."

"Oh." Either he'd also been counting, or he was still good at reading her body language.

There was an awkward silence, one that couldn't be properly broken by the waitress bringing them drink refills. The unasked question hung heavy in the air.

Finally Silver caved. "I did go to the funeral. I meant to talk to you, but I chickened out because – well, because I was seven, and I didn't know what to say. And then when I finally tried to visit a couple days later, foster care had already placed you, and no one would tell me where. Though I guess I couldn't have visited if I did know. I mean, Mobotropolis is pretty darn far from Knothole."

When the words finally stopped spilling out, he dropped his head and nervously tugged at his gloves. "I'm sorry. I should have tried harder. I should have been there for you."

Blaze fiddled with her straw as she considered her words. "I'd be lying if I said wasn't mad at you about that. But I didn't try to stay in contact with you either. I knew your aunt's name; I could have asked Rouge or someone to look up an address or phone number. But it was really easy to just let theatre work distract me from my old life, because if I was thinking about lines or blocking, I wasn't thinking about Father. And if I wasn't thinking about Father, I wasn't thinking about you either. So if you're willing to forgive and forget lack of communication, I am too. Deal?"

Silver smiled. "Deal."

Blaze snagged the bill from the waitress despite Silver's protests ("I'm not the one paying tuition") and the pair gathered their things before starting the walk back to Delphi.

"You'll have to introduce me to your local friends sometime."

Blaze shifted uncomfortably. "I – I don't have much in the way of friends here."

"What? None?"

"Not any nearly as close as you, no. The closest is probably my – well, there is this one raccoon, but - as you said about Sonic - she has to be taken in small doses."

Silver either missed or ignored the abruptness of her pause, for which Blaze was grateful. In truth, Blaze had been about to mention Shadow, but she found herself reluctant to mention him, even to Silver. Really, the fact that she even considered him her closest local friend bothered her upon further reflection. She didn't even know what he looked like. Instead, she shared Marine's quirks – her impulsivity, her oft incoherent slang, her apparent fascination with Miles.

"Though I suspect she's more interested in the tech work than she is with Tails himself," Blaze noted regarding the last point. "What about you? Have you made friends at college?"

Silver shrugged. "A few, I guess. There's one girl who's another social work major, Elise. I've partnered with her on a few class projects. She's friendly and a hard worker, but some of her interests are a bit… weird. I'd probably know more people if I lived in the dorms and didn't have to work so many hours."

The conversation died off as the two came to a stop by Blaze's front door. "I suppose I should get to bed," Blaze sighed, stifling a yawn. "I've had a long day."

"Right. Well, it was great to catch up with you. I'm glad you're doing well." Silver's smile was soft and full of fondness, and Blaze couldn't help returning it in kind.

"Same to you. Here, let me give you my cell number, in case you have more time to hang out while you're still here." Silver handed over his own mobile, and she created an entry for herself before handing it back.

"I won't have time, but I'll call anyway. Goodnight, Blaze."

"Goodnight, Silver."

Blaze watched Silver until he disappeared into the stairway, then chuckled softly and unlocked her front door. She tossed her purse on the couch and headed for the bathroom to wash out the hairspray from earlier.

It wasn't until an hour later when she had already turned out the lights that she sensed someone nearby – a displeased someone – and remembered why she'd been so nervous earlier.

* * *

_There's not even a point to being apologetic about long waits for updates at this point, is there? Though I will admit that 20 months is bad even for me. _

_No theatre terms to cover this time. I will say that, yes, the nicknames Blaze and Silver have for each other are terribly uncreative. They're supposed to be - they were six years old._

_Next chapter - Shadow has a conversation with someone! At last!  
_


End file.
